


More beautiful than flowers...

by postfrom1776



Series: The journey between Paris and London, a FrUk compilation [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred F. Jones - Freeform, Aph Québec, Arthur Kirkland - Freeform, Arthur Kirkland you dumbass, Awkward Flirting, Flirting, Flower Language, Francis Bonnefoy - Freeform, Francis Bonnefoy is a oblivious idiot, Getting Together, Human & Country Names Used (Hetalia), M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, The nedcan is background but you can't miss it, Wilhelm Van Dijk, World Meeting (Hetalia), i can also relate, i can relate tho, matthew williams - Freeform, pinning, she comes back as a little cameo!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:55:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25557697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postfrom1776/pseuds/postfrom1776
Summary: Arthur is done, done with the man he is head over with flirting with every single person he meets. What better way to get his attention than by using the method he knows best: Victorian Flower Language.
Relationships: Canada/Netherlands (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia)
Series: The journey between Paris and London, a FrUk compilation [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830940
Comments: 43
Kudos: 74





	1. Yellow and Purple Hyacinths

Another week, another world meeting.

This time, the nation had assembled in Amsterdam, and Arthur could not be more bored. Germany had taken the reign of the meeting, again, and America was yelling and not leaving place for anyone, _again_.

The Ex-empire had tried to get his point across, only to be shut down by this self-proclaimed hero for another uncountable time.

Since he had had his time to talk, all he could do was sulk on his chair while Ivan started to argue with Alfred.

The discussion and debates were going absolutely nowhere these days, and the United Kingdom of Great-Britain and Northern Ireland knew it. At least he wasn’t the only one who seemed bored.

On the other side of the table, the current meeting’s host was deeply invested into a discussion with his sister, Belgium, and their brother, Luxembourg.

England couldn’t tell what they were talking about exactly, but the little glances that Wilhelm was shooting toward the North American Nation of Canada let Arthur guess that it had a link with the yearly tulip gifting…

Meanwhile, Matthew was sitting beside his screaming brother and looked like he wanted to sink into the floor from embarrassment. Being the twin of the loudest and most obnoxious Nation on Earth did that and he never seemed to get used to it. That and being picked on by other Nations for looking so much like America.

Romano and Veneziano were both asleep soundly against the hard wooden table, and Spain and Prussia had begun a game of card, the deck probably coming from the germanic ex-nation.

And just on his right was France. At least he could mentally insult that bloody bastard in his head to pass time. The tall blonde had begun flirting with the reporter taking notes during the meeting, one of the rare humans allowed at their meetings.

Oh no he wasn’t! Arthur was thinking, his face flushed red in anger. That wanker, that idiotic frog wasn’t flirting with someone again! And right in Arthur’s face to top it off!

-”Stop it, snail eater! You’ll scare our approved reporter away with your stupid advances.” He snapped at Francis, turning hastily on his chair.

-” Angleterre, always cutting my fun, isn't it?” He responded, his attention fully on the Englishman now.

Great, now they were going to fight again, the meeting would have been incomplete without it. England could almost hear Germany sighing at the sight of the two Europeans about to go at each other’s throats.

-”Yes, because you pervert can’t manage to keep it in your pants during one world meeting! Not one! When it’s not the reporter, it’s Spain, Germany, anyone!”

Anyone but me he wanted to say, but luckily stopped his tongue before making a mistake.

-”Ah, silly englishman, that simply is what you see.” France replied, his usual teasing voice.

Surprisingly, he simply stood up from his seat and excused himself to the other countries before exiting the room, but not before clearly winking at Arthur.

The concerned Nation was not only completely frozen, he was bright pink, up until the very top of his ears.

-”What the hell happened?” Alfred was the first to break the silence that had fallen over the room, and the pen of the reporter started to frantically scratch against his paper.

Shortly after, Arthur realized that the whole meeting room was staring at him.

-”Oh God... “ He uttered under his breath.

-”Well, I as well have some important businesses to attend, with, um, the Queen! And my Prime minister. So if you’ll excuse me ladies and gentlemen...” And he hurriedly left the room, following the almost same path the frenchmen had taken right before him.

-”Ok but seriously, will someone explain what the f*#k just happened?” America exclaimed again, clearly not picking up any hints about the situation.

Ludwig huffed before taking the lead of the meeting once again.

-”We better let them be, hopefully, the meeting next week will be less, eventful.”

Most everyone continued the meeting and ignored the strange strings of event that had just unfolded, but the reporter was starting to think that there was a lot more interesting story that could come out of those events.

Meanwhile, Arthur was on the train back to London, brooding. That stupid frog couldn’t take the hints, after all those years?

He kept on frolicking with everyone, on flirting around and proclaiming himself Nation of Love. Arthur couldn’t believe how blind France was. And to tease him like that! The absolute nerve that infuriating man had!

Infuriating, and-and, charming, and handsome…

Damnit! Why did of all people Arthur had to fall in love with France?

It was hopeless, there was no way that France would ever notice anyway, too self absorbed with his “Beautiful cities and sights” as he said, and when it came to flirting, Arthur truly had two left feets.

Well, he remembered, there is one way that he still is a master at, and he knew that France is extremely familiar with it as well.

Victorian Flower Language.

Yes, that could function, he just had to ship them from London to Paris and to see how Francis had reacted to them at the next meeting. A perfect plan on paper indeed.

As soon as he arrived in London, he walked to the closest flower shop and began to look around the various flowers available.

Two hyacinths caught his eyes, instantly meeting with the feeling he had in his well guarded heart.

_Purple Hyacinth- Sorrow_

_Yellow Hyacinth- Jealousy_

Perfect, he taught before picking them up and bringing the two sturdy stems to the countertop to pay. The florist asked him if he knew about the meaning of his peculiar and not at all romantic flower arrangement, and he simply told that he perfectly intended that message. No need for everyone to know about his strategy.

He also paid extra for the same day delivery to Francis apartment, and walked home with a wide smirk on his face. It was all going along very, very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again my fellow readers! I just finish a fic to begin again, but hey it's alright! I hope you will enjoy. The title is taken form a lyrics from Fall In Love, Mademoiselle, one of France's character songs and my personal favorite.
> 
> Edit: I corrected the verb tense inconsistency at the beginning before every single one of my english teacher astral project to kill me


	2. Lavender

Francis Bonnefoy did not get flustered, oh no, he did not, non, not at all when Arthur angrily revealed that he was jealous of France’s constant flirting with other people and Nations.

It was why he kept his composure so well and only allowed the bright red tinge to stain his cheek after he exited the meeting room.

It wasn’t running away! It was, well, keeping his suave and aloof facade for the world to see, that’s all.

If only he had known that this plan to make Arthur’s jealousy level skyrocket would have worked so well!

Because yes, the flirting was only ever in Arthur’s presence, specifically for him to see. Antonio had even given him the permission to act like if he was hitting on him to make the whole thing more realistic. He had hoped so much that he would finally catch Angleterre eyes, and perhaps his heart, even if it is just for a short while.

Gilbert had said that it would never work, but Angleterre little fit of anger had proven the prussian otherwise. He would get his 20 € the next time he would meet up with his friends.

Friends who were getting so annoyed at his constant rambling in half -french and english about Arthur that they had helped him to cook up this plan so that they could get the smitten Frenchman to shut up!

After his train ride from Amsterdam to Paris, he was at home once again, the familiar buzzing of the City of Light vibrating to his very core.

He walked toward the bright blue door of his apartment, but stopped before placing his keys in the keyhole.

On the porch were two wrapped hyacinths, a yellow and a purple one. It wasn't the first time he had received flowers, of course, a man like him has had a lot of admirers in the past. The flowers were fresh and brightly colored, but not bearing a good message. He had communicated with various ladies and gentlemen in flower language often enough to know what it meant.

The purple one seemed to scream: _How dare you sadden me like that, can’t you see my pain!_ While the yellow one added a cry of: _You are mine, not theirs, mine!_

Anyone else receiving that message would have been confused, but France could instantly decipher the author of such a flowery paragraph.

Angleterre, obviously. Who else could send such a message of jealousy. Once again, a proof that France’s plan had worked perfectly, but the purple one didn’t make sense to him.

Since when was Arthur in touch enough with his own feelings to even think and send something symbolising such sadness? The English Nation had always seemed so distant from his own heart, using his head first all the time.

What if this was exactly this once again? What if Arthur had seen clearly into his game and had decided to humiliate him by sending misleading stems and petals? That would be the perfect way for Arthur to hurt him, not dirty, just gentlemanly enough but still oh so painful.

No, Francis wasn't going to carelessly give out his feelings to England on a silver platter for him to crush them and brew with his morning tea. The red roses he carried ever so often would stay close to his heart.

But he could play this game with England. This whole situation being so strange, Francis chose his response carefully. It was too late for a trip to the flower shop, but he already had his response on hand.

_Lavender- Distrust._

He had to know that it wasn’t a scheme to hurt him, then he’d see. The flower had been pressed long ago and lacked the vivacity of fresh lavender, but he figured it would work. He had taken the delicate flower in one of his country’s own fields and placed it in between book one and two of Les Misérables to lay it flat.

The pale purple flower was placed inside an envelope with two sheets of papers to protect the fragile dried petals. The stamps were hastily glued on and the letter and Arthur’s address was scribbled on the paper in a blue pen.

He would post it tomorrow as soon as he could, but for now, he could simply take a vase and fill it with crystal-like water to hold the twin hyacinths.

No matter their true intention and their painful meaning, the bright flowers were quite beautiful and found themselves at home on Francis kitchen island. As if the Nation of Love ever could bring himself to throw flowers away...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep close to your heart, Francis, protect it from the thorns…
> 
> the flower meaning is taken from the Farmer’s Almanac, so i hope they are accurate, else I could be misleading. Anyway, hope you enjoyed. don't hesitate to leave kudos and comments, i'd love to see them and to talk with you all! Also I know its shorter than the last chapter,but its alright.


	3. Iris and White Chrysanthemum

The day after the meeting in Amsterdam, France shipped his small envelope. The day after that, England received the fragile pressed flower. When he saw it, he was successfully taken aback by it.

_Lavender- Distrust_

Really stupid frog? Are you blind to this point to distrust his effort? Well if proof of his honesty was what was needed, the damn snail eater would get it! The next meeting was taking place the following thursday, in Chicago this time. A recipe for a disastrous meeting, just like the time it was held in New York City last month.

The Nations went to their respective places and shortly after everyone was seated, Alfred did a grant entrance, once again bursting through the wooden doors. England sighed heavily as America started to speak, well, if his yells could be called speaking.

-”Well, ladies and dudes, now that the hero is here, we can start the meeting and listen to my super ideas!”

The room audibly sighed, and probably regretted the concise but efficient introduction that Wilhelm had given them in Amsterdam a week ago. Meetings in the United States were always the most chaotic ones, and rarely ended with a decent conclusion or solution regarding the current subject. Maybe with spoilers for the next few superhero movies though.

Arthur defended his country’s position and argued loudly, but couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. Every single one of his mouvement were being studied. He turned toward France, sitting on his right, who was intensely glaring at him, deep blue irises drilling holes on the side of Arthur’s face, on his chest, on his…

-”Are you done checking me out, bloody pervert?” He snapped at France, Successfully turning the blonde’s gaze from his arse back to his own eyes.

-”What Angleterre, you do not like being the center of attention all of a sudden? What happened to your: I am the mighty British Empire pride?” France sarcastically answered while forcing his accent on the British Empire part.

-”I simply don’t appreciate getting undressed during world meeting by the eyes of a stupid frog like you, France.” He replied with a steely calm in his voice.

He wasn’t falling for France one-way ticket toward a fight. This time he was going to do things in the right way, and by that, he meant getting Francis his flowery response now instead of on the doorstep of his hotel room.

He bent over to pick the white chrysanthemum and iris from under the table, and carelessly threw them on France’s lap, letting the wide eyed nation to stare awkwardly at the impromptu bouquet.

_Iris- Message_

_White Chrysanthemum- Truth_

The frenchman’s eyes quizzically went from the two flowers on his lap to England’s green eyes.

 _Please, this is a message of sincerity, believe my heart and my words…_ the interwoven flowers said

He realized the meaning behind the white petals,the truth about his last message in response to France’s distrust, but he remained staring at the purple iris. The symbol of a message, but bearing so much more for the French Republic.

His fallen royalty’s symbol...

-”Really Angleterre, my old national flower, what do you think you'll achieve with that?” he scoffed, trying to swallow the lump that has formed in his throat against his better judgment

-”Taunting me over my Revolution again, over the bloodbath I couldn’t prevent? When will this ever grow old, France getting torn apart by his own people, France getting _GUILLOTINED?! **WHEN WILL IT GET OLD!**_ ”

France’s voice turned from his elegant sarcasm to a mix of a scream and a wail in a matter of seconds, and Arthur could see that tears had welled up in his neighbour’s eyes.

But above all that sadness about those painful memories and that unientitional mockery was anger.

Anger and betrayal.

An uncomfortable feeling of suffocation had taken over the room, carried by the Nation's sudden burst of emotion, of taboos never to be mentioned at this table or elsewhere.

England could swear on Good Queen Bess’ grave that he hadn’t seen France this angry since he saw him fighting like a madman in the Seven Year War.

France had been fighting to not only keep his honor, for his country’s power, but Francis Bonnefoy was also fighting, anger and despair fueling him, to keep his children, Canada and Nouvelle-France.

The same feelings were washing over France’s usually so delicate feature, hardening the line of his face and his eyes.

-”Francis…” England began only to be cut by France hand's pushing him out of his way and his cold voice, keeping steady through it all.

-”Don’t bother trying, imbécile d’Angleterre.” The insult was almost spat and as he walked toward the door with the flowers still in his hands, before proceeding to throw them carelessly on the floor, white and violet blue petals crushed under his heels.

As the door slammed once again, the eyes of the room turned immediately toward England.

-”Dude, seriously, what is wrong with you?” America exclaimed, for once communicating what everyone in the room was thinking.

-”Not even Russia goes on and around mentioning sensitive subjects for me, France never brought up 1776 and you just go throwing this back in his face!”

The younger Nation kept on ranting, and England as if it wasn’t enough, Prussia and Spain started to rise from their seats to try to “Talk some sense into him” as they were muttering.

Behind everyone, Canada took his chance of leaving, and carefully closed the door behind him to find France, sitting on a bench in the hallway, not even far from the meeting room.

-”Hey Papa, are you alright?” He shyly asked, not sure of how to deal with the emotionally distressed Nation in front of him.

-”Ah, Mattieu, I am sorry, I didn’t know you were there mon petit” He quickly said, wiping stray tears from his face.

Always trying to look strong and pretty, classic from Papa, Canada though.

-”How about we both go out for an ice cream, Alfred showed me a very nice place the other day?”

Perhaps taking France’s mind off with some sweet treats would help, and Matthew was overjoyed at the idea of having some time with his father

-”Bonne idée, but what about the meeting?”

Ah, yes, they were going to miss the rest of the World Conference. And for once Canada was receiving a lot of glances from The Netherlands, something that usually never happens to him… He was regretting leaving slightly, but helping his father seemed more important.

-”As if they would notice my absence, allons-y!” He responded, successfully bringing a genuine smile on Francis’ lips

In the meantime, England had received a probably deserved black eye from Gilbert and Antonio and the official reporter had left the conference as well, worried that his presence had caused this ruckus in the first place at the previous meeting.

In the hallway, the bench France had previously occupied was besieged by Wilhelm Van Dijk, smoking from his pipe and brooding, a bouquet of red, pink and orange tulips at his side.

It was his chance, but the person they were destined to had once again disappeared, and flowers seemed inappropriate after this whole incident between England and France.

Oh well, he thought, someday perhaps I’ll give them to you… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t wanted this to happen but it just did i'm so sorry!!!! It just did! This fic started more with a broad idea and no plan, unlike my other multiple chapter story, so it was bound to happen. Also NedCan my friends, NedCan


	4. Pink Carnation

As he was sitting in the back of the cab, ( _it’s a taxi, Iggy_ , America would have said), England was thinking about how wrong the whole ordeal had turned out.

This was never supposed to happen like that, France was supposed to be shocked, maybe flustered and then maybe accept a date at some restaurant later or at least a drink in a café, not to make him upset about possibly the worst time of his life.

He had to try to make things up, at least apologies to avoid disintegrating international relationships.

He had been allied with France for nearly 116 years now, it would be catastrophic to politically injure his prospects, and to hurt Francis more than he already had.

The Nation of Love was deeply attached to the Entente, so was Arthur, but he would never say that outloud…

As he walked out of the car, he wandered in the streets of Chicago instead of returning to his hotel room immediately. He was looking for a flower shop, and more specifically, for pink carnations.

_Pink Carnation- Apologies, I’ll never forget you_

-”I wonder what you must have said to need such flowers, sir” The shopkeeper asked in a teasing voice while wrapping the small bouquet of bright pink flowers.

-”Actually, I sent the wrong set of flowers.” He simply answered, not willing to elaborate on the dreadful meeting and his black eye.

-”Oh dear, please tell me it wasn’t the Fuck You Bouquet?” She exclaimed, eyes wide

-”Fuck You Bouquet? I mean, I sent him one long ago, but this time, it was an iris.”

-”Oh, alright, I see.” She smiled, and while England looked at her, he tought that perhaps this would turn out alright.

-”Umm, do you have a pen and paper, I’d like to add a note with the flowers.”

-”Yes, of course.” She answered, sliding him a black pen and a small piece of decorated cardboard matching the shade of the bouquet.

Arthur quickly scribbled on it, reread himself and placed it between the petals.

-”Hopefully it will pick up the pieces.” He muttered before paying and thanking the florist, bouquet of pink carnation in his hands.

As he walked out of the shop and toward the hotel where France was staying, the sky turned from cloudy to dark gray and heavy rain began to pour.

Damn, his English luck striked again and he was shortly drenched to the bone from his lack of umbrella.

He hurried his pace, hoping to get back inside quicker and to protect the fragile petals and the note from the raindrops

When he stepped inside the hotel lobby, he was dripping on the carpet and his grey suit looked almost charcoal in color, but his pride forbade him from turning back now.

He walked up to the desk and negotiated his way into learning Mr. Francis Bonnefoy’s room number. He suspected that the receptionist slightly pitied his state and his flowers, but as long as he got his way, did it matter?

He made his way to the elevator, and went to the 14 floor, toward the 14-23 room.

When he came face to face with the door, we knocked and took two steps back, just in case France was decided to give him his second black eye of the day

The door shortly creaked open, revealing a more or less put together French Republic. His blonde curls were loosely framing his face, and at the sight of England, his soft lips hardened into a straight line.

-”What do you want, Angleterre?” He asked coldly.

He couldn't afford to make a lot of noise, this hotel was pretty good and being indefinitely kicked out for excessive noise would be unfortunate.

-”I came to apologize, about this morning, the iris making things go south wasn’t my intention, I should have known not to add it with the chrysanthemum.” He concluded, presenting to the other man the bouquet of pink carnations.

-”Des oeillets roses…” He whispered as he deciphered the message.

 _I am sincerely sorry, I won’t forget you_ and in that context _I won’t forget about the iris…_

-”There is a note as well, if you want to read it. I’ll go back to my hotel, no need to bother you any longer.” And on that, he placed the flowers in Francis’ hand and walked back toward the elevator.

Hopefully, France wouldn’t have noticed the faint blush creeping from his neck to the tip of his ears in the dimmed light of the hallway.

Still standing on the doorstep of his room, France was shocked. Since when has England ever apologized to him of all people.

He could only articulate a small “Merci” before the Englishman disappeared inside the elevator.

He returned to his room and sat on the edge of his bed, picking up the little note from between the paper soft petals.

It read:

_Francis,_

_I am sorry about this, I truly just wanted to use the flower for it’s Victorian meaning, but forgot about the meaning it had for you. It was insensitive of me, and I should have known. I hope these carnations can show you my good intentions and to make it up to you, I would like for you to accompany me next week, we could go grab a drink in a good café I know. Only if you want to, of course._

Then, a little phrase was obscured by scribbles and followed by Arthur’s signature and cell phone number.

Francis let out a sigh, Arthur truly was an idiot, but an idiot asking him on a date after apologizing for probably the first time in his existence. So perhaps he wasn’t a completely hopeless idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Entente Cordiale was mentioned, my job here is done.. kidding this is not over yet!  
> Also the infamous Fuck You bouquet, a well known tumblr post I had to mention here because of the sheer FrUK energy it has:
> 
> @cupidsbow on tumblr
> 
> so you’d need a bouquet of geraniums (stupidity), foxglove (insincerity), meadowsweet (uselessness), yellow carnations (you have disappointed me), and orange lilies (hatred). it would be quite striking! and full of loathing.
> 
> And the roome number, 14-23 is their birthday, 14 of July for France and 23 of April for England. I know that I am a nerd, so little Easter Eggs find their way in my works
> 
> And oeillet is the french word for carnation, rose is the french word for pink, he’s just naming the flowers in his language.
> 
> Did I wanted France to pull England in the room and end it here, maybe, but I haven’t used my favorite flowers yet, so that will have to wait ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	5. Daffodils

_A week later_

Arthur was sitting in the café he had chosen for his meeting with Francis. Or date, he could call it a date now.

He was sitting nervously by the window, a warm cup of tea growing mild while he was looking for the familiar silhouette of the Frenchman to show up.

Would Francis just leave him hanging? After all, it wouldn’t be surprising that the Frenchman would just laugh at his invitation and leave him to be stared at by the waitresses in pity.

Then, as he considered standing up and leaving, Francis' blonde figure showed up in the corner of his eye, a long white scarf hanging loosely on his shoulders and in his hand a striking yellow bouquet.

_Daffodils- Forgiveness, new beginning_

England was taken aback by the flowers, and by the fact that France had decided to respond to his Flower Language attempt. He remained stunned in his seat as the taller man made his way into the café and at his table.

-”Désolé mon cher, I needed to select the perfect flower to respond to your date and the florist really was clueless on Victorian Flower language to help me out.”

-”You’re late because you were picking flowers?” Arthur answered, a smile creeping up on his feature against his best wishes.

-”Well, of course! I had to find something that says _I forgive you, how about we try again?_ And my Victorian Flower Language is rustier than yours, Angleterre.”

Francis responded as if nothing could be more obvious, a sunny expression matching the daffodils on the table.

-”So, I am forgiven?” Arthur asked, still hesitant despite the signs unravelling in front of his eyes.

-”Obviously, stupide Anglais.” He simply said with his smile like if it was the simplest thing in the world.

It wasn't that surprising coming from Francis, he who had forgave him for so many worst things in the past, but Arthur still felt like 10 pound of bricks were taken off of his shoulders.

France raised his hand as the waitress passed by and ordered an espresso for himself and a fresh cup of Earl Grey for Arthur.

-”Thank you, for the tea, I mean.”

He also wanted to thank Francis for coming, but he didn’t want to look that desperate.

-”Well, you were not drinking it anymore, so I deduced it had run cold.”

-”Oh so now you’re doing deductions, I should start to call you Sherlock, Francis?”

At the mention of the nickname France used for England, the latter chuckled lightly.

-”I am afraid you would enjoy it too much, Victorian Flower Language and your dear Sherlock Holmes, where is the French part of it?”

-”I guess you get The Tales of Two Cities, or you bring enough Frenchness by your presence alone.”

-”More Revolution I see.” Francis’ voice took a darker tone, but when he saw Arthur’s face visibly whitening he started to profuse a serie of apologies

-”Oh mon Dieu Angleterre, I was kidding, it-it’s alright, I swear.”

-”Don’t go messing around like this France, you’re stressing me out!” He said before sipping on his tea with a huff.

-” Oui bien sûr, no stress for you, old man.” France teased, picking his cup as well.

-”You are way older than me, France, you even need glasses that you don’t wear.”

Arthur responded instantly, old man jokes did come back often between them.

-”I don’t see at all what you are talking about, Angleterre.”

France responded at the mention of his hardly worn glasses he had the misfortune of telling the Englishman about when he purchased them.

-”Exactly, you don’t see, get it?” The pun was completely intentional, and England found himself holding back laughter.

-”But I do see what you did there, mon ami.” France couldn't help but to smile at that terrible attempt at humour from his british counterpart.

-” You should wear them, you know, you’d get a better vision of your “oh so beautiful Nation” as you always say, and I’m sure they would suit your face.”

France let out a defeated sigh.

-”That’s where you are wrong, they would obscure my beauty, and beside, I don’t mind seeing your caterpillar eyebrows with a blur.”

The last part was added with a forced smile, the prospect of glasses were really bringing him down, and no little bickering about England's eyebrows could disguise that.

-”Francis, they would help you, and you know, glasses can actually enhance the beauty in people.”

As he pronounced these words, he pulled a single daffodil from the bouquet and leaned over the table to tuck it behind France’s ear.

-”Just like flowers, they make you shine more.” He murmured that last part, still so close, so very close to Francis’ dumbfounded face.

England pulled back as quickly as his idea to place the flower there came and cough a little in the awkward tension he had created.

-”Les jonquilles were for you, but thank you for this one, Arthur.” France broke the heavy silence, cheek as rosy as the carnation he had received the other day.

-”Yeah, your welcome.” He didn’t know what to say. It had been the most intimate thing he had ever been with anyone, and with France of all people, he could feel that he was just as red in the face as the other Nation.

-”Oui, um, I have to go, so I’ll pay and leave, alright?”

-”No, let me pay, that’s the least I can do, I invited you here after all.” He insisted, expecting a small argument as always between them, but France’s response never came.

Instead, he leaned in closer and kissed him on both cheeks, in classic european fashion. France never gave him la bise, well, England never let him, but it felt nice.

-”Merci, Arthur, et au revoir.” he said before disappearing beyond the door and on the busy street, his white scarf following him and disappearing in the crowd in an instant.

Meanwhile, Arthur was just standing there, beside their table, still processing what had happened. His hand went to his cheek, where the chaste kiss had been left.

He paid for their drinks and delicately picked the yellow bundle from the table before heading home.

He could hear the waitresses and the baristas whispering between each other about how cute these two were together and England couldn’t help but to think about how much he wished they were right.

What a date…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hear me out, France with Glasses.
> 
> this chapter is mostly dialogue but I love writing their interaction, it’s gold. And the idea of France giving him la bise ( the kiss on both cheeks to greet people, you know) just came to me, and it makes the next few flower choices much more easy for me! 
> 
> Les jonquilles mean the daffodils, simple as that.


	6. Calla Lily

France was standing in front of his mirror, debating a very important topic.

Glasses on for the world meeting or no glasses at all ever in public.

Germany had worn glasses to read and at world meetings ever since he was the one of the germanic brothers representing their lands, and both Canada and America wore theirs as they represented Québec and Texas.

Stupid England making his heart beat at 200 bpm and question his style! He was the Nation of Love and Romance, but also a icon of fashion and confidence worldwide and his reputation could not be tarnished by a thin metal frame around his eyes, shading his face with the reflection of light in the transparent glass.

Mon Dieu, he felt like he was hideous with those glasses on!

But maybe it was because it was so unusual for him to wear them, or because he actively hated the idea of being mocked by his pears for wearing glasses.

When he put them on, his confidence started to unravel at the seam, and he could almost hear the phantoms of laughters.

Ever since Arthur said he would still look pretty, prettier even, his entire convictions were shaken to the very core.

He placed them back on the bridge of his nose for the 16th time before taking them off, his reflection oscillating between crystal clear and slightly blurred.

His presbyopia was really strong, so much that he messed up a recipe, not that he misread the instructions, he knew them by heart, but he couldn’t see that the container was for salt and not sugar and messed up a complete batch of sponge cake.

He also couldn't read very well the papers that were passed to him at the World Meeting, and when he tried to make sense of the blur of black and white in front of him, he got horrible headaches.

He had to pretend to read Le Petit Prince when he was bored at the meeting table to avoid a migraine but still show his disinterest.

What a dilemma! See England’s face clearly for the first time in 10 years or keeping his pride up to every other country?

Both parties had advantages and disadvantages, on one hand, no headaches, clear vision, and on the other, laughters and a horrible look.

Faced with this decision, he picked up the phone and dialed the phone number of the one person he could trust with fashion advice AND keeping the secret of his glasses.

Canada knew nothing of fashion, wearing a red hoodie to World Meetings and America and Seychelle would spill the bean faster than even Prussia or Spain.

-”Allô, Québec here, what's going on?” The tired voice of his eldest daughter came from the other end of the phone.

-”Marie, it’s me, I need advice…” He hesitated

-”I know it’s you papa, the real question is why are you calling me at 1am?” she sigh, her father would never understand the concept of how time isn’t the same across the Atlantic.

-”Pardon, but I need to know before the World Meeting and it’s 7:12 here. So, umm…”

-”S’il te plaît, just speak, it will be quicker that way.” her tired voice prompted.

-”Should I wear my glasses to the meeting or not?”

-”Wait, you need glasses? I do too! Why didn’t you tell me?” Her curiosity apparently woke her up, because now she sounded completely alert, yet off subject.

-”Québec-” He tried to get her attention back, but his daughter was going on a rant yet again.

-”I can't wear mine, I look like Canada, and Ontario would never shut up about it and-”

-”Marie-”

-”I can’t be humiliated by anyone again! The Kitchen Meeting was too much for my ego for like, the next 100 years and-”

-”Nouvelle-France, will you please listen!” He retorted to use his daughter's old name to get her to settle down and instantly, Marie stopped talking.

-”Oh yeah, it’s not about me, excuse-moi papa.” She sheepishly apologized before continuing.

-”So, why do you need to know, you never wore them before, so why now?”

Francis took a deep sigh before responding, bracing himself for the next rant he might cause. England and Québec’s relationship was a complicated one to say the least.

-”Arthur said I would look good if I wore them and now I am confused about it because I never wore them in public by, well, fear…”

A silence grew for a few seconds before the younger province answered.

-”C’est tout? That’s why you are so stressed? Because of Love? Isn’t it your thing? Papa you are the Nation known for his beauty and confidence, you’ll look great in glasses and get the guy, come on! Get out there and if they laugh, laugh back, and insult their clothing or something.”

-”You're sure that I’ll look good, Marie?” he was still hesitant but mostly convinced.

-”Oui, Je suis certaine. Anyway, goodnight Papa, and goodluck!”

With that, she hung up, but she had said just enough to settle France’s decision.

He placed the glasses back on his face and gave his mirror his prettiest smile, the one he’d give England when he’d enter the meeting room in a few hours.

_A few hours later..._

The meetings in his own city were the most convenient for France, mostly when he had to make his own great entrance, just like America the last time.

He walked in the decorated hallways of the building, his black suitcase in hand, designer suit and metal rimmed glasses on his nose.

He reached the door and pushed it with his available hand. That was it, that was the moment he became even more the laughing stock of Europe, no, of the World…

In the room were already seated the Germanic nations, the Nordics, Canada, America, most of Western Europe and England.

Most heads turned toward the door to see who had arrived so that they could begin the meeting and as they caught sight of France, a face of shock graced their features. Even America was completely speechless.

But when Arthur saw Francis, all of the air inside his lung was shot out in an instant and he knew that his jaw might have been hanging.

He was positively gorgeous.

The metal of the glass brought his gaze directly to France’s deep blue irises, and the glass in front of them added a shine to them, a second light in the already effervescent eyes.

Two strands of golden curly hair were hanging out of his ponytail and framing his cheekbones even more now that the thin glasses’ frames laid above his cheeks.

England felt his heartbeat skyrocket and half of his blood flow rise to his face, the other half...let's not talk about that, now.

The room was completely silent now, with only France standing in the doorway, painfully seeing clearly all the dumbfounded faces in the room, not knowing if it was a good or bad thing, but when he spotted England in his chair, hope started to rise again in his heart.

England looked like something that could only be described as starstruck.

Woah, what was happening?

The first thing to break the fragile silence that had fallen in the room was a half choked sound that strangely came from The United-Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, which he immediately covered into clearing his throat.

-”France, the glasses, they really suit you, you see, I was right.” He said, thinking at the same time sarcastically: Wow, how smooth Arthur…

Francis smiled softly and blushed for a moment before responding.

-”Well, merci beaucoup Angleterre, now, how about we begin, I believe we have a meeting planned, non?”

All the other Nations ignored the weird moment after complimenting France on his “new” glasses and the meeting went on very smoothly.

Too smoothly compared to the last two ones…

But Arthur was way too busy studying Francis’ profile to argue with anyone, even America could dishonor his legendary rock bands and he couldn’t be bothered to even acknowledge the young superpower.

How didn’t he notice the magnitude of his feelings for France before? God only knows…

When the break marking the half-way point of the meeting came, he stood up in a hurry. He had spotted the perfect flower in the flower pots of the hallway, and even if it was technically defacing someone’s property, he was not at all thinking about it.

He picked the stem of the calla lily, it’s white inflorescence looking like an embrace to the yellow stem at the middle, producing a sweet and faint fragrance.

_Calla Lily- Beauty_

France had been insecure about his looks with the glasses, but he was truly beautiful with them on. He never should have waited so long to see clearly.

He went back to the meeting room and placed the flower on France’s chair before pushing it back under the table. The room was empty, so no one could see that he was once again bringing a flower to the French Republic.

He exited the room again to avoid suspicion and waited at the end of the break on the balcony of the building where the meeting took place.

Under his eye unfolded Paris glistening in the late morning light. France was truly reflecting his city’s appearance or was it the opposite?

Behind him, two other figures walked on the balcony, but as he was on the extreme right of it, they didn’t see him.

Canada was standing beside Netherland and the sun on his cheek revealed the red color of his flag. The Dutch Nation was smoking from his pipe, but he was mostly looking at the slightly smaller blond.

-”The wind makes me feel a lot better, thank you for bringing me here, Wilhelm.” His quiet voice spoke up.

-”It’s nothing Matthew, I know you prefer great spaces to stuffy rooms like this, mostly when you don’t even get to intervene in the meeting.” He added with a smile as he put his pipe down and slipped a bit closer to Matthew.

That was whom the tulips were for, Arthur realised. He should leave them alone, but the fear of breaking their little moment by getting noticed while exiting the balcony left him right where he was.

Gosh, France would have loved to see this little love bloom…

-”You know, Canada, we’ve known each other for-”

-”75 years.” he cut the taller man.

-”Sorry, go on.” He quickly added.

Netherland smiled at Canada and took his hand in his, and the atmosphere changed swiftly from two friends having a conversation to something more…

-”I’ve gotten the chance to learn to know you, dare I say better than anyone else, and to like your quirks and maple, even that infuriating bear, what’s his name?”

-”Kuma-improvisation most of the time.” He joked, still looking into Wilhem icy blue eyes.

-”Well, what I am trying to say is, what I’ve been pushing back since the last two meeting actually, Canada, Matthew Williams, your presence in my life have been a constance ever since you dragged me out of hell, and after all those years I realized that what I feel is more than anything I have felt before, Matt, I- I” He stopped himself briefly, red burning on his face before pursuing under the speechless canadian gaze.

-” Ik hou van jou, Canada, I love you, or Je t’aime, whichever you prefer, if you like.”

Canada stayed silent for a moment, processing everything before responding in the most surprising way, to our witness England, at least.

He grabbed Netherland’s face and pulled him into a kiss as sweet as his famous maple syrup.

Wilhem instantly melted in the kiss, and Arthur took this as his time to leave subtly and to leave the two lovebirds alone. He would never have imagined that Matthew was this enterprising in love, but his son was also France’s son, so it must explain all of that.

Speaking of France, England saw him exiting the meeting room he had just entered with the white flower in his hand, a wide smile on his face.

-”Angleterre, there you are!” He exclaimed as he caught sight of him.

He rushed to him with the calla lily still in his hand, whispering _You are beautiful, so very beautiful..._

-”You really mean it, with the flower?” he coyly asked

-”I do, France. You look absolutely sublime with your glasses, and without them too. I told you already”

-”Non, non, you said pretty, not beautiful, it’s different.”

He was utterly flustered, there was no point in hiding it now. And Arthur couldn’t praise himself on the paleness of his face either.

-”Well, how about we head back, I have the best gossip ever and it concerns little Canada.”

Arthur had successfully redirected the subject and allowed his heart a break from spinning inside his chest.

They both took back their seats as Arthur started to describe, with few details, the encounter between their son and the Netherlands on the balcony, which France was skeptical of at first but visibly gasped as the two walked back into the room slightly disheveled and holding hands.

They spent the remaining half of the meeting snickering like old friends and when it ended and that they picked their belongings up again, France saw the calla lily again.

-”Angleterre, would you like to meet me at a restaurant tonight?”

-“Um yes of course! I will meet you there?” He answered too quickly and asked impatiently.

A date in a restaurant, and knowing Francis Jean Bonnefoy, a fancy one.

-“Oui, I’ll text you the address, d’accord? I’m heading back home, doing some paperwork first and I'll see you then.”

With that he headed outside, leaving a smiling England behind him.

-“Yes, see you then…” he responded for no one in particular to listen, but America was walking by and eyed the ex-empire in a suspicious way.

-“Dude, you ok? You're all, happy and all.”

-“Better than ever America.” He simply said, and followed in the footsteps France had taken toward the exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot longer than the others, but I don’t really care. 
> 
> By the way, my partner told me I WAS a gay panic, and I ma glad to say Arthur is too.
> 
> They are so in love it hurts, but NedCan is here wahoo! And it’s not written or stated, but Wilhelm, I know there is a hickey under your scarf… ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 
> 
> Francis Jean Bonnefoy is his full name, Jean is French for John, and it’s the other name Hima would have given him, and seeing Marie Joseph Paul Ives Roch Gilbert du Motier was a standard French name, he needed at least a middle name. Also it’s the french name Jean, like John, not Jean like Jean Grey from X-Men. I am aware it looks like Jeanne, like Jeanne d’arc, why do you think I chose it? 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!! (0w0)


	7. Red Rose

As soon as he walked out of the building where the meeting had just taken place, France found himself overwhelmed by the feeling bouncing in his chest.

He spun around on the macadam street, emotion washing over his heart like waves from the Chanel on his coastline.

Could it be that England’s feeling toward him had changed, could it be that everything he ever wished for was becoming reality?

It was happening, since when was the Island Nation so friendly toward anyone? Toward him?

It could be explained by only one thing, one wonderful, ineffable thing:

England had fallen in love with him, after all these years of shamelessly flirting with him and trying to get his attention, the stuck up british man had finally collapsed to his advances, let down the dam between them.

It was a rush of heroin in his bloodstream: England loves me , England loves me, England loves me… England. Loves. Me! Me! Not anyone else, me!

The sweet melody of those words echoed in France’s mind as he started to walk back to his home. He was inviting Arthur to a date at one of the fanciest restaurants of all of Paris, he had to get ready.

Of course, he was already put together for the meeting, but changing from his light blue blazer and white shirt to a black suit with a blue shirt would make a difference, at least it’s what he thought.

He looked at himself into his bathroom mirror, just like he did this morning, but now every doubt had vanished from his face, replaced by an unearthly glow and a sincere smile. He was looking more in love than ever.

And that said something coming from the personification of the personification of the Nation of Love…

He straightened his collar before going to grab his phone to make a reservation. He got them a table at 7:00 pm and he proceeded to send a quick text message to England to make sure he knew where and when to come.

Then the wait began. Francis quickly felt like he wouldn’t be able to stay in his apartment for the time that was left before his dinner with Arthur.

He grabbed his wallet, purposefully forgot his cellphone to avoid being bothered by his boss and walked swiftly out of his house.

The sun was shining brightly on the Parisian street as France made his way between his citizens and his tourists, his unbelievably good mood seemingly contagious to everyone he encountered. You’ve never seen people from Paris in such a serviable state.

He made his way to the Eiffel Tower, and thousands of people walking in The Champ de Mars could see a young man who was seemingly on top of the world, humming a melody and telling tourist things like: Paris is indeed splendid, my heart have never been more happy and full

He went all around his favorite place in the city, feeling like he was on a cloud, wishing to every couple in the City of Love to feel like him right now.

After spending a few hours between the Champ Élysée, l’Arc de Triomphe, le Louvre and Le pont des Arts, Francis headed toward a flower shop he knew.

Gosh, in the last few weeks, how much money had they both put in the pockets of the florists?

As he pushed the glass door, the bell rang announcing his presence to the worker behind the counter.

This time he knew exactly what he needed to do, no more beating around the bush like before with his daffodils and lavender.

-”Bonjour madame, I would like to purchase three red roses,please.”

-”Oooh, who is the lucky one?” the middle aged lady asked him, having obviously seen many more before him, but none looking as in live, at least France would say.

-”Someone I should have bought roses a long time ago, but he never returned my feelings. Now he does, so we’re going on a date tonight.”

-”Old love never fading, how romantic.” She sighed, smiling at her client.

-”Older than you can imagine, Madame…” He responded, mysteriously alluding to his incredibly long life.

-”Well, young man, I wish you the best of luck with your date, and I hope he will see how lucky he is to have you.”

As he paid, Francis gave her a little laugh.

-”I think he knows, but he’s a stuck up Englishman, but thank you.”

With that, he said goodbye to the florist and walked to his final destination.

The summer sun was setting on La Ville Lumière, slowly turning the warm beige stone to a fiery orange and red, beautifully complementing the dark blue that the other end of the sky had taken in color.

Francis looked at his watch and saw that he still had some time, so he walked slowly toward the restaurant. Ok, this was true, but he was also growing more and more nervous thinking about Angleterre.

This was the farthest they had ever got in a relationship together, and he was afraid deep down of doing the wrong thing and breaking apart all that they had built.

He saw the facade of the restaurant, and distinguished the familiar up straight silhouette of Arthur Kirkland in the light of a street lamp. He was waiting for him, there was no backtracking now… He took a deep breath of the now cool evening air before walking toward his date.

As he saw Francis, Arthur’s face lit up. He was quite uncomfortable being unable to understand half of what the people around him were saying, and seeing the man of his affection made his heart flutter in his chest.

The black suit he had changed in made his blue silken shirt look like a beacon, accentuating his eyes, eyes circled by his glasses reflecting the lights of his city.

Arthur himself had changed in the other suit he had brought, light grey with a darker tie, but honestly as if he could compete with France on looks.

-”You look stunning” He breathed when France got close enough to hear him.

-”Oh, Merci Arthur, you are not half bad yourself.” The Frenchman replied with a wink, eyeing him from head to toe. Arthur should be more confident, he had a great sense of style.

France was still holding the roses behind his back, half-way out of view, but he decided it was a good time to give them to his Angleterre. He pulled them from behind his back and pushed them forward, almost directly in England’s palms.

-”These are for you, I was hoping you could read the flower language one last time before we go on our date, maybe as something more than two friends or colleagues dining in a high class restaurant.”

_Red roses- I love you_

Such a simple meaning, one most everyone knew, even without extensive flower language knowledge, but now that France gave them to him, he felt like the thorny flowers were whispering to him: _Je t’aime, je t’aime, je t’aime…_

His face heated up suddenly, and his heart began to race once again in his chest.

-”You mean this? You really do?” Arthur asked, eyes going from the red bouquet from Francis sapphire eyes.

-”Don’t be like me with my lavender, Arthur.” Francis smiled, a pink tinge lighting up his pale cheeks.

-”Of course I mean it, mon amour.” The French Republic whispered as an answer.

-“I love you too, I’ve been in love with you since we were children.” Arthur spluttered, looking at his polished leather shoes, unable to keep his eyes on France, the oh so beautiful France, the man he had fancied all those years, the man who just told him he loved him.

-”We’ve both been idiots then, haven’t we.” Francis added with a small laugh, placing his hand on Arthur's chin and lifting his gaze from the floor back to his eyes.

-”Kiss me now, you bloody frog.” Arthur pleaded, no real spite behind their usual insult.

And France is more than happy to obey for the first time the mighty British ex-empire.

The kiss was chaste and delicate as Francis pulled Arthur close to him, pressing slightly the roses between them. When they split apart, it was like the night illuminated them, stars shining brighter than anything dazzling in their eyes.

-”How long have I wanted you to do that.” Arthur purred, still pressed against Francis.

-”You are the one who has always been in denial, mon chéri.” France responded

-”You were sleeping around with everyone, how was I meant to know you loved me, Francis?” He then suddenly distanced himself from their embrace, a hurt look behind his eyes.

-”Arthur, Angleterre you don’t understand, I was doing this to make you jealous, I rarely went further than flirting with people for centuries, so that you’d hopefully acknowledge what I prayed was there in your heart.”

As Francis spilled his heart out, Arthur remained silent, like frozen in place on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. France took a step closer, crossing the distance England had once again placed between them just as easily as you cross the Chanel.

-”And it worked, you sent me the two hyacinths, and even then I was so used to you and I bickering, I almost dismissed it, but I kept on hoping, hoping you could be mine, and I responded. Now we are both here, after thousands of years, please England, believe me!”

Some people walking found it weird that the two men were using the names of countries while talking to each other, but kept on walking toward their destination.

-”I believe you, I am sorry, if only I wasn’t so closed up, so much disconnected from what I feel, this is all my fault…”

France interrupted his rant and took his hand in his.

-”Your fault that we are together for a date in one of the most beautiful restaurants of my city, I believe we are lucky, darling. How about we get in, umm?”

Arthur squeezed Francis' hand in return.

-”Yeah, you’re right, let’s go, love.” He responded, his smile gracing his lips once more.

-”Oh I like when you call me that…” Francis cooed in his ear, making Arthur smile even more widely.

And on that they both headed inside, red roses a bit bruised, but still safely in Arthur’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! They got together at last!! ^-^
> 
> Should I end on that scene, or shall I write an epilogue? It's not a question, I will write an epilogue haha.
> 
> I hope you liked it! Writing Francis' lovestruck part at the beginning was easy for me as I have felt that everyday thanks to my incredible partner, feeling loved by someone is the most wonderful thing in the world and I wish it for everyone.
> 
> Also this time Arthur read the flower both in his cartesian way and in Francis poetic way, isnt that cute?


	8. Épilogue / Garden

Flowers mean many things, may it be with their colours, quantity or simply what us humans associated with them. You can use flowers to express joy, loss, love, disgust, sadness, jealousy and so many other things. 

The period of time where flower language became the most popular in Europe was during the Victorian Era, but has been around way before that. 

I do believe every culture has its own version of it. Isn’t it beautiful? 

For some Red and White roses will signify both love and purity respectively and untarnished love together, but for some others, it represents the country of England and it’s symbol, the Tudor Rose, or even their lover.

For some cornflowers, daisies and poppy, are mostly flowers who grow wild in the fields in the summer days, or they can mean blessedness, innocence and consolation, in that order, but it also represent the Tricolor and it’s message of Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité that so well illustrate the country of France. 

I also know someone who made flower crowns for his soon to be husband and lover, and who will forever associate them with these three little flowers.

Flower language can be incorporated in many occasions, courting, romantic dinners, demand for forgiveness, demand for marriage, weddings, funerals, ect…

Francis Bonnefoy asked his partner to marry him with a bouquet of Heliotrope, signifying eternal love and devotion. You’ll be glad to know that the other partie, Arthur, said yes to that demand, on the condition that he could choose the flowers at their wedding.

The alley was decorated with small sunflowers, symbols of adoration, accompanied by ivy leaves curling around and around, like the fidelity in marriage they represent.

The bouquet was lively and sunny as well, in the forms of Daffodils, white and yellow. New beginning in this marriage, unequalled love, regard and hope for the newlyweds. But to them it meant how they got together once again, how they reunited after all these years. 

The maids of honor, Québec and Seychelle had both switched for their classic blue attire to wear the pale yellow of the flowers, while the two best men, America and Canada wore matching daffodils on their suits. The ring bearer, little Peter, had adorned his best sailor outfit for the big day. 

Ontario, Newfoundland and New Zealand had helped with the organization, while Australia, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia and Alberta had planned the party. British Colombia had taken out her camera and was ready to add the job title of wedding photographer to her CV. 

France wore an all black suit, and waited for Arthur to come down the aisle. How many times had he joked that he would wear a fancy white dress to his wedding? Now he was just just showing that color on his crisp white shirt. 

The music changed and everyone looked at the door opening. Arthur in an ivory suit on the arm of his older brother Scotland, who apparently lost a bet to both Ireland, Northern Ireland and Wales. The whole attendance of Nations was silenced and the only thing that they saw was England. 

His hair was combed, for once, and he was absolutely radiant. Even his brother in his kilt seemed proud of him. In his hands were the daffodils, the flowers who helped change his life for the better.

France was trying to dry his dampening eyes, helped by Marie who lended him a handkerchief. He smiled at Arthur behind his glasses, clear in the sun coming from the stained glass windows. 

Of course, the place where they married had been a subject of debate, but in the end, they did settle on the Mont St-Michel, which, after all, is surrounded by memories for them. 

France could have sworn he saw a familiar smiling face as he entered the chapel, wishing him good luck and happiness from her past life.

Vows were exchanged, tears were spilled and unions were renewed. Silver rings finally rested on the fingers of the newlyweds. It had taken them hundreds of years to become friends, a few hundred more to even admit it, and longer to finally tell each other how they felt, but at last, they were here. 

At last, they made it official, in front of their little family, and in front of dozens of other Nations.

If you wonder, the bright yellow bouquet was caught by a canadian whose cheek turned bright red as soon as the flower laid in his palms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a romantic, of course i always end my fics on wedding prompts or proposals and the province jumping in!!! Anyway, thank you to everyone following this fic and I hope you loved it and that the ending was good for you all!! I have a few new Hetalia fics on the way so stay tuned, along with a huge project coming… 
> 
> Anyhow, ciao! 
> 
> Postfrom1776

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go again my fellow readers! I just finish a fic to begin again, but hey its alright! I hope you will enjoy. The title is taken form a lyrics from Fall In Love, Mademoiselle, one of France's character songs and my personal favorite.


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